Better Man
by cupid-painted-blind
Summary: You're not in love with me, she'd said. You're in love with your idea of me. Let me go. [He went to the Dark Lord for revenge. Snape oneshot, set during Sorcerer's Stone. Onesided SnapeLily.]


**( better man )  
**

He sees himself as he always wanted to be - handsome, powerful, with a beaming redhead on his arm and no sign of a messy-haired boy with glasses anywhere to be found. He sees her, shining beautiful, in love with _him,_ with Severus, not with that stuck-up excuse for a human. Not dying to save that man's son. Not dead at all (because if she'd married him, then she'd be alive, so it's all James Potter's fault she's dead, and all that annoying brat Harry's fault as well).

As long as he stands at the mirror, he can erase it - _he finally gathered up the courage to tell her how he felt, but he was too_ - he can pretend that the beautiful Lily Evans (Lily Snape, Lily Snape, Lily Snape) is his wife, his girl, his to love and cherish and hold and keep.

_late, she was already falling for Potter. She shook her head when he finished his confession, and_

Something stirs outside. He turns away and blinks the image out of his eyes. Walks out of the room, forgetting to close the door in his haste. It's Quirrel, he realizes, turning a corner, Quirrel looking terrified and can't he see that he's just ruined Severus's perfect daydream? The only dream he can't wake up from? Doesn't Quirrel understand that seeing Lily again is more important than whatever plans he has for the Philosopher's Stone? But that's wrong, it isn't. Stopping the Dark Lord is better than a mirror. He storms over to the teacher - _said, "You're not in love with me, Severus. You're in love with_ - and asks him what he's doing.

Quirrel panics and starts stammering about something, some excuse that Severus doesn't listen to.

_your idea of me. Let me go! You're fooling yourself. Stop it. I'm sorry, I can't, I have to -_

He doesn't really know what he says to him, something threatening probably, something cruel. Then Filch shows up clutching a broken lamp and muttering about students out of bed - In the Restricted Section, Professor. _I have to go." And like that, she was gone._ He walks away from the scene, back to his own study, shuts and locks the door. Takes a deep breath.

He opens a bottle of wine and pours himself a large glass, Lily's eyes on his face, her voice in his ear. How could he have been so foolish, to think that the Dark Lord wouldn't have killed her? How could he have let her go? _He never spoke to Lily again, never said goodbye, never said anything else. He told her he loved her, and she didn't believe him, wouldn't believe him, married James Potter, and _

And it's James Potter's fault she's dead, not his. Never his.

_he went to the Dark Lord for revenge, because he was furious with Potter for stealing his Lily, furious with Lily for walking away, furious with Dumbledore for allowing it. He went to the Death Eaters with the intent to make everything right, to_

He loved Lily Evans and she married James Potter and had James Potter's child and died for James Potter and stupid Harry Potter, because Severus was a fool who swore that the Dark Lord would listen to him, would grant him this one request. It isn't his fault that she's dead. It's Harry Potter's fault, it's Voldemort's fault, it's - _steal her back, to make her love him, to make her see that he was better than James_ - anything, anyone's but his.

He was willing to - he did - kill for her, anything to bring her back to him. He downs the first glass of wine and pours a second, watching her face blur in his mind (it's easier when he can't see her clearly), and the truth bubbles up despite his best efforts to stop it. _He killed for her, to bring himself closer to her. James Potter died for her, to keep her safe._

The wineglass shatters in his fingers, and he crushes the shards against his desk, uncaring of the blood on his fingers or of the glass digging into his palm. Later, he goes back to see the mirror, to drink in her face, her smile, her eyes, one last time, but it's gone. Moved somewhere else, without any warning. He didn't get a chance to say goodbye.

_You're not in love with me, _she'd said_. You're in love with your idea of me.__ Let me go._

He'll never let her go.


End file.
